The Accident
by adelaidybug
Summary: What happened? I have to focus... I have to figure out where I am and why I can't move...
1. Chapter 1

**So I was tired of writing fluff for my other story because I'm not generally a fluffy writer... and then this happened.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing from Warehouse 13. ****_Nothing. _****(Besides this story.)**

**This is written from Claudia's point of view.**

* * *

I open my eyes and things are blurry. I can't focus. What happened? I'm trying to remember, but it's like I'm in a fog. I have to think. I need to focus and figure out why I can't move. Every breath makes me feel like my lungs are on fire. Squinting my eyes, I realize I'm upside down. Why am I upside down? I turn my head slightly. My heart skips a beat and I want to scream at what I see, but all I can do is stare. Steve is by my side, bleeding from the head, unconscious.

"S-Steve?" The effort it takes to choke out his name causes me to retreat back into the pitch-dark clouds that had been billowing in the sides of my vision.

* * *

When I open my eyes next, I'm moving; being lifted out of the car and strapped onto a gurney. It's too much. I can't stand restraints, and I want to escape, but I can't even say anything, much less move. Everything hurts. Where's Steve? I try to say his name, but my tongue is sticky, and my voice won't work. I'm having trouble getting enough oxygen, and my lungs burn as I fight for air.

"Hey, you were in an car accident, and we're bringing you to the hospital, okay?"

I try to acknowledge the EMT, but end up just blinking my eyes slowly. My eyes still won't focus. They load me into an ambulance and I start to go to sleep again.

"Stay with me." The med stands over me. "I need you to try to stay awake, okay?" Someone puts an oxygen mask on me, and I feel a sharp sting in my arm. Things are getting increasingly blurry.

"Hey," his voice becomes unnaturally slow, " stay with me."

I can't keep awake any longer, and I sink into the embrace of the blackness again.

* * *

"Can you hear me? Try to wake up, okay hun?"

The first thing of which I become aware is the tube down my throat. It's attached to a ventilator, which is breathing for me. I choke against the tube, and suddenly there's a hand on my arm.

"I know you're really uncomfortable, sweetie, but I need you to write down your name and the number of a parent or other family member we can contact. Can you do that?"

I try to speak, but find myself gagging at the breathing tube again.

"Here," the nurse presses a pen in my left hand. I look over to my right arm and find it in a cast from fingers to above the elbow, then shakily write down my name and Artie's name and number. The nurse puts something into the IV going into my left arm, and soon I drift off to sleep again.


	2. Chapter 2

**I still don't own Warehouse 13 or any of its characters, nor am I making profit from this story.**

* * *

"Claudia?" Artie's voice sounds choked. I wearily open my eyes, and see him standing by my bed, looking too grave. _Steve. _Where is he? I try to mouth his name around my breathing tube, but Artie doesn't understand.

"It's okay, it's okay. You were in a car accident, but you're okay." He takes my left hand and squeezes it. Before I can try to figure out what happened to Steve, the sedatives pull me back under.

* * *

I wake up and notice the breathing tube was replaced with one of those little nose tubes, which is more gently pushing air into my lungs. My throat is raw and sore, but I'm relieved to have the tube gone. With each breath, there's still grating pain in my abdomen, and when I touch my ribs cautiously with one hand, I find a rib-binder wrapped around my torso. There's a knock at my door, and a female doctor comes in.

"Welcome back, Claudia."

"Thanks." I cough a few times, and pain rips through my abdomen. Despite my best efforts, a whimper of pain wrenches its way from my lips.

"You've got some injuries in your abdomen, and that's why it hurts to cough and breath deeply. I'm doctor Samuels."

"Oh," I say in a raspy voice. My throat definitely needs to heal more. "Uh, my friend was in the car with me. Steve Jinks? Do you know anything about him?"

"No I don't. Sorry."

My face falls. What if... No. I can't go there.

"Can you tell me what all got injured in the car accident?"

"Yes. You had three broken ribs: two on the left, one on the right; one of the left ones dug in and punctured your lung, causing a partial collapse. That's why you were intubated. You had surgery to get your ribs out of your lung, and we put in a couple of plates to anchor the ribs in place. Your arm and three fingers are broken, you've got a minor head wound, a broken collarbone, and a cracked sternum.

"Holy crap, I'm like one giant injury."

"You're extremely lucky to be alive."

"I know." I'm thinking of Steve again, even though I'm trying to distract myself. "So, I'm definitely high right now. What do you have me on?"

"Vicodin." She produces a small smile. "Good stuff, huh?"

"Yeah, well, I'm guessing I'd be in a lot more pain without it."

She nodded. "How about some lunch?"

"I'm not really hungry."

"You should really eat something. It's been a couple of days since you've had solid foods, and the longer you wait, the harder it's going to be on your digestive system."

"Couple of- How long have I been out?"

"Well, you came in on Thursday night, and it's Sunday afternoon."

"Wow... So, a while."

"Yeah."

"I guess lunch would be good."

"Okay, I'll have dietary bring something up."

The doctor leaves, and after a half an hour, someone comes in with a tray of food. Well, hospital food anyway, the edibility of which is somewhat questionable. After I've choked down what I can, Pete comes in, followed by Myka.

"Hey, look who has a slightly less creepy breathing tube now!" He pushed the table away from my bed, and sits by my feet. "How're you feeling?"

"I'm fine. Where's Steve?"

Pete's face falls.

"No." I feel sick.

"Claudia-" Myka interjects.

Despite my oxygen tube I can't seem to get enough breath. "What happened?" I'm choking on the words, and my heart feels like it's going to beat its way out of my chest.

"He's alive, Claude. But... He's in a coma," Pete says softly.

I suck in a huge shaky breath, forgetting how much it will hurt, and subsequently black out from the pain.

* * *

**Well? Please let me know your ideas for this story, as it is truly still in the making. I love your input. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**I don't own Warehouse 13 or its characters, only this story, with which I am not making profit.**

* * *

"Hey there, kiddo," Artie's voice awakens me on Monday morning.

I moan over the pain in my torso as I open my eyes.

"I know it hurts."

"What happened to the damn vicodin?"

"They're trying to wean you off it."

"Great, that's just crap-tastic," I spit out fiercely.

"My, you're chipper today," he says with a sarcastic smile.

"How the hell am I supposed to feel, Artie? My entire body is completely screwed up and my best friend is in a coma. _Excuse me_ if I'm not more bright-eyed and bushy-tailed." I'm trying to hide behind my bitterness and anger, but the hurt and fear are coming closer and closer to the surface.

"Hey, come here." He hugs me very carefully.

"So, uh... How is he?" A few tears slide down my cheeks.

Artie sighs. "The same."

"Which is?"

" Pretty bad head trauma, a broken jaw and a broken wrist. They're saying there was definitely... brain damage, but it's hard to tell how much until he wakes up."

"If he even wakes up at all." My voice breaks and I'm crying harder, my sternum and ribs aching with each undignified sob. I hate it that I can't just neutralize an artifact and make it all better.

"Couldn't we use a-"

"No, we can't, Claudia," Artie interjects, knowing what I was going to suggest.

"But why not?"

"I talked with Mrs. Frederick already, and she insisted that we let his condition play out unhindered."

"Play out unhindered?" I say the words slowly, the feeling of betrayal clear in my voice. "So... So if he dies, that's it? It's just too fracking bad?"

"Claudia, I tried-"

"No, Artie. You didn't try. If you really tried, he would be okay now."

"Claudia-"

"Get out!"

"What?"

"Get out of my room. I don't want you here. GET OUT!" The ache in my ribs and chest is so bad it's making me see spots, and as he leaves I crumple in on myself, shuddering in pain.

My pain doesn't subside for the rest of the day, and they have to give me sleeping pills before I finally conk out that night.

* * *

I wake up freezing cold, with intense pain radiating in my sternum and ribs. It's too hard to breathe, and I'm dizzy even though I'm lying down. When a nurse comes in to check my vitals early that morning, she finds that my temperature is at 102 degrees, and gets a doctor in to examine me right away.

"Claudia, I think you may have an infection in your chest cavity from your surgery last week. I'm going to set you up with antibiotics right away." The doctor's voice sounds far away.

I nod my head, and suddenly am thrown into a fit of coughing. When the agonizing hacking is finally over, I lay my sweaty cheek back on the pillow and fall asleep.

* * *

I wake up and start coughing again, weird silver squiggles popping up in my vision. A nurse is checking my temperature.

"Whattsssths happennninnng?" My speech is slurred.

"Your fever has been rising despite the antibiotics. It's at 105. If things don't turn around soon, we're going to need to perform surgery to clean out the infection and fluid from your chest cavity."

"Can you- Uh... Can you call... Uh... Sorry, I'm not making sense... I don't know what's... I mean, I should really... You should..."

Fog is rolling in on my brain, and I'm having trouble staying coherent.

"Uh, my dad... I mean my friend... Er, my boss? I don't really know what to call him... Can you... uh... call him?" I'm trying to focus my brain on saying his name, but it's bouncing around like a rubber ball in an anti-gravity room.

"Call who, Claudia?"

"Call um... uh... Artie. I think... I think I'm..." Everything goes completely dark.

* * *

**What's going to happen? (I don't know, I haven't written that far yet.) Keep the reviews coming! Thanks for reading.**


	4. Chapter 4

**I don't own Warehouse 13 or its characters, only this story from which I am not making profit.**

* * *

"Claudia?" It's Artie's voice. "Can you hear me?"

An oxygen mask is over my face, and there are ice packs on my hands, feet, and forehead.

"They put a tube in your chest to try to drain the fluid and pus in your lungs, but it's not really working, so you're going to have surgery."

I feel so weak, so pained, so positively fragile that I can't even respond. My breath catches in my throat, and as I try to cough, things get fuzzy. My vision clears and lights are flashing by above me. I look up to find my doctor along with a few other people rushing me down a corridor. This is terrifying. I always thought I'd die bravely; saving the world or some other sort of important crap. Not dying on the operating table from a stupid infection. They bring me into some room, and a doctor is pushing a syringe of something into the IV on my arm. My eyelids and lips grow heavy, and I fall asleep.

But it's not like the other times. Things are happening.

"Claude?"

I turn around and find him standing there.

"Steve!" I pull him into an embrace. Subconsciously, I know this can't be real, but try not to think about it. "I've missed you. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just asleep. Are you okay, Claude?" He's doing that thing where his lips are smiling, but his eyes are full of concern.

"Yeah... _I think..."_

"You think?"

"I have this chest infection that got really bad. I'm having surgery on it."

He hugs me again. "It'll be okay."

"Are you coming back? I don't know if I can handle stuff without you."

"Yeah, I'm coming back. I'll always come back."

"Okay." I hug him again.

"Claude, I think it's time for you to wake up."

"No, not yet!"

"Hey, we'll hang out soon enough. You need to go get better."

"Okay, okay. Just... come back to us soon, okay Jinksy?"

"Okay."

"No, you've gotta promise. Promise me, Steve!"

"I promise."

"Okay."

* * *

That stupid tube is down my throat again, and someone is holding my hand.

"Hey there. How're you feeling?" Myka smiles as I open my eyes. I glare at her as if to say "how the hell do you think I feel?" and then fall back to sleep. I want Steve to be there again, but he isn't. So I decide to drift up to the surface of consciousness again.

* * *

I decide not to focus on my pain at all. So as I push away the thick layer of sleep on top of me, the first thing out of my mouth is "How's Steve?" My voice croaks awkwardly. Pete stares at me for a moment before sighing and mumbling, "The same."

"Damnit!" I pound my fist against the table, sending pain shooting in my chest, and I yelp in spite of myself.

"How do you feel?"

"Pissed off."

"I mean your ribs and stuff..."

"Fine."

"Really?"

"It hurts like hell," I begrudgingly admit.

"Hmm. So fine?"

"Right, fine."

He squeezes my hand. "I gotta go, Claude. Mykes and I have a case. Hang in there, okay?"

"Kay."

* * *

It's been four infuriating days since my surgery, and finally I am being wheeled to Steve's room. I've been mentally preparing myself for this moment, but no preparation could have been enough to help me handle seeing Steve lying unconscious on that hospital bed. His head is bandaged, and his wrist is in a cast. The pain ripping through my chest has nothing to do with my healing ribs and sternum. I stare at him for a long time, mouth slightly ajar.

"Uh, hi," I say awkwardly, remembering that thing they say about people in comas being able to hear you.

"Hey Steve, how are ya?" Nothing changes. "I miss you... I miss you a lot. And I need you to come back to reality. Okay? Can you just... come back?" I reach out and take his hand. "See, I really need you to come back. 'Cause... I kinda love you. Actually I love you a lot. And I don't know how that's supposed to work 'cause you're gay, and I'm not a guy, so maybe it's a total platonic thing, or unrequited love or... I don't know. But I can't really figure it out until you wake up. So just... wake up." I can't stop the trail of tears making their way down my face as I stare at my best friend.

"Wake up, dammit!"

I don't know what I expected to happen. Maybe I had watched too many chick flicks, but I had thought maybe, just maybe he'd wake up now. But he doesn't. He's just laying there, and I can't stand watching him anymore.

"Okay, I'm ready to go now," I say to the nurse who brought me here, and we leave.

* * *

**I know, I know... The feels.**

** Thank you for reading, and please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

"Hey Steve. So... you made me a promise. You promised me-" My voice cracks. "You promised me you'd come back. So come back!"

I'm sitting there holding Steve's hand. It's been a week since the accident, and I'll be discharged from the hospital tomorrow. My infection is gone, and my ribs and sternum are slowly healing. But my heart won't heal until my best friend comes back to me. "... I miss you. We all miss you. Just... get the hell back here, Jinksy!"

Suddenly I feel his hand tighten around mine, and I yelp, staring at him. His eyelids flutter open slowly to reveal those piercing blue eyes I've been longing to see.

"Steve!"

"What... what's happening? Who... W-where..."

"You're okay? You're okay. You're okay!" I'm nearly hysterical, I'm so relieved. Tears are streaming down my face. "I've missed you so much!"

"What...happened?"

"We were in a car accident. You've been in a coma for a week."

He nods slightly. "Could... hear... talking..." It looks like he has to concentrate really hard to talk.

"Are you in pain?"

"Head... hurts," he mutters slowly. "Who... who are you?"

I stare at him for a long moment, mouth gaping open. "It's... it's Claudia. Your BFFWYLION? Your partner in crime. Any of this ringing a bell?"

"Huh?"

"What about the Warehouse? Mrs. Frederick? Artie?" My chest hurts from my rapid breathing and pounding heart.

"I... I don't... I can't remember..."

"Holy crap..." My hands are tightly clamped over my mouth, muffling my words.

I grab the remote on Steve's bed and press the nurse button. Seeing as I'm in the coma ward, this gets immediate attention from nurses and then a doctor.

"He doesn't... He doesn't remember me," I say, voice filled with tears. "He doesn't remember anything!" I'm once again in hysterics, but this time it's not from relief or happiness.

Just then, Artie comes in.

"Artie, he... I..." I'm sobbing, pain radiating in my chest.

"I'm sorry, I'm going to need you two to step out while I perform some tests on Steve," the doctor says.

"Come on, Claudia," Artie says, pulling my wheelchair out of the room.

"Steve! Why don't you remember me?" I'm practically screaming as I leave.

"Calm down, Claudia."

"But he doesn't... He can't..." My crying smothers out my words, and Artie bends down and hugs me tightly. It aches in my ribs, but I don't care. I'm broken. It's all I can do to cling onto Artie and drown my sobs in his brown jacket.

When I finally calm down, Artie wheels me back to my room.

"Claudia... I'm sure he's going to be okay."

"You suck at lying, old man," I say as I pull the hospital blankets up over me.

He sighs. "I have no idea if he's going to be okay."

"Me neither." My face contorts as I try not to dissolve into tears again.

"Hey, but he's awake. That's good news."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Just hang in there, kid. We'll know more soon."

"Okay."

* * *

Artie comes into my room later that day and I turned down the old Sci-fi movie I was watching.

"How is he?" I feel breathless.

"Claudia, I need you to stay calm, okay?"

"Calm? Who's not calm? I'm totally calm."

"Right..."

"The calmest."

"Okay."

"Well?" I'm growing impatient.

"The doctor ran some tests, and..."

"Artie, just tell me," I say slowly.

"The doctor said there is brain damage, but also swelling from his concussion. One or the other is affecting how quickly he processes things, and he's getting easily confused and lost in conversation. And then there's the whole memory thing... He remembers his childhood, and time at the ATF, but nothing past that. There's a chance that once the swelling goes down, some or all of that could go away. And... there's also a chance that he might never get his memory back, and have slower processing... for good."

I nod, trying not to panic; trying to be brave; trying to hope. But those words, 'for good' are so big and so scary that soon I'm wrapped up in Artie's arms. I'm not crying anymore, just shaking like a small lost puppy.


	6. Chapter 6

**I don't own Warehouse 13 or any of its characters. Only this story.**

* * *

"Hey Steve," I call out, entering his hospital room. I was released from the hospital three days ago, and still am in rough shape I suppose; Bruises and cuts litter my body, along with my still healing collarbone, sternum, and ribs. After the accident they gave me a weird sling thing for my collarbone, so alongside the rib-binder that makes all my shirts look funny, my shoulders are now exaggeratedly pulled back with dorky, white, crisscrossing straps.

"Hi..." He stares at me unfamiliarly. It's making me increasingly uncomfortable that he doesn't remember me. "So... you're my work partner, right?"

"Yeah."

"So, where do I work now? The uh... guy. What was his name... Artie. He told me I was transferred to a different government department?"

"Would you believe me if I told you that you work at a government warehouse which houses artifacts imbued with supernatural powers?"

He glances at me quizzically. "I don't know... should I?"

"Yup."

"Okay..."

"So uh... what's the last thing you remember?"

"Apparently one of my last days at the ATF."

"Before Artie and I broke into that one place and the whole Jimi Hendrix depocle?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"And you don't remember the accident at all?"

"Nope."

"Crap. I keep on almost remembering it, and then it goes away again." I can't sit still, so I start pacing back and forth nervously.

"Have you talked to the cops or figured out if there were any witnesses?"

"Yeah. It was just us on the road. Artie said it was nighttime. And then something happened that caused us to fling off the road like a... crap, I'm out out of witty things to say. I just want to know what the hell happened!"

"I know. But we'll figure it out, okay?"

He smiles and I smile back.

"Hey, that was almost like my Jinsky! I mean-uh, the Jinksy-er, Steve that works at the Warehouse. I mean, not that you're not great, it's just..."

"It's okay, Claudia. Believe me, it's a little freaky for me too."

"Oh, I'm sure it's super freaky for you! How's everything else? The... processing and stuff?"

"Good. Better. The doctor said the swelling's gone down, and with it my headaches are gone and I can keep up with conversations."

"Oh. Well, that's good I guess." I'm trying my best to suppress my emotions.

"But the memory... hasn't been coming back, which means..."

"-it could be permanent," I finish his sentence, unable to hold back my tears any longer, and bury my face in my hands, sinking into a chair.

"Hey, it's okay." He puts his hand on my shoulder.

"You know, before the accident we were best friends," I mumble.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. We would snuggle and talk all the time, I mean I guess I did a lot of the talking, but you never seemed to mind. And whenever I would have nightmares, you'd wake me up and calm me down. And we always knew when there was something wrong with each other, even when no one else did. And now you don't remember any of it."

"Wow. I'm... sorry."

"No, no Jinksy, I'm not trying to make you feel guilty. I just... I needed you to know."

"Okay."

"I'm gonna... go. So, see ya later," I say awkwardly.

"Okay. Uh, bye."

* * *

"Steve!" I come racing into his room in the B&B the morning after he's been discharged.

"Wha... huh?" He's still half asleep.

"Sorry, uh... I should have knocked. But do you know how to drive a stick shift?"

"Huh? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Just answer me. Do you know how to drive a stick shift?"

"No, I never learned."

"AHA!"

"What is it?"

"A theory, Steve. A theory."

"Well... care to enlighten me?"

"I was up all night trying to figure this out. The rental car we were driving in LA when we got in the accident was a stick shift. I taught you how to drive one about a year ago. But I've been piecing together memories from the wreck, and remember that you got this funny look on your face like you didn't know where you were, and then you lost control of the car. _So, _I think the memory thing isn't _because _of the wreck, it _caused _ the wreck, meaning that you've been whammied!" I'm talking at warp speed, and end the sentence panting for breath.

"I've been what?"

"Um, affected by an artifact. So, the two of us are going on a mission to track down whatever artifact it is, snag it, bag it, and return you to your normal self, sir." I'm smiling widely, practically wriggling with excitement.

"Okay. Well, seeing as I just got released from the hospital, can it wait till tomorrow? Or better yet, when you and I are a little less beat up?"

"Tomorrow? Seriously dude? Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Back in bed, sleeping. Like I should be right now."

"Well drag it out of bed and make it put some pants on, because we're going on an artifact hunt."

He sighs.

"Fine."

"Yes! Get packed, we'll leave for the Warehouse in an hour," I squeal, and run to back to my room to pack my own suitcase. My sense of adventure is slightly dampened by the fact that my collarbone sling makes all my bad-ass jackets look completely and ridiculously awkward, but an hour later I've rallied my spirits, and we go outside for a quick tutorial on teslas, static bags, and goo.

"You seriously want me to use a glorified taser instead of a gun?"

"Look Steve, I know this stuff is pretty meta, but I need you to put on your big boy underpants and deal so we can get you back to normal. Got it?"

"Are you always so... so..."

"Oh trust me, it only gets more sarcastic."

"Okaaay then."

"Hey, you with the attitude, are you ready to leave?"

"Yep, let's go."

We pack up my Prius and head for the Warehouse.

* * *

**What did you think? Any ideas of what the artifact might be or how the snag-and-bag might go? Thanks for reading, and please review!**


End file.
